


Dead From The Neck Up

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e11 Sam Interrupted, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Placed during 'Sam, Interrupted', Dean begins to lose his sanity at the psychiatric hospital in search of a wraith. When Lucifer shows up in his room, he believes it to be just a hallucination, and what harm can a hallucination do? We'll see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead From The Neck Up

**Author's Note:**

> Faust is a scholar who is skeptical of Hell and in the beginning of the play is about to commit suicide, absolutely depressed because he feels he lacks knowledge and his alienation in his community. This is due to the fact his father accidentally killed innocents during the plague with his potions. In the play Faust summons Mephistopheles, selling his soul for knowledge for the sake of helping others out... But later on he forgets his good intentions, proving the road to hell is constantly paved with them.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

  
__  
Fingers in the blackbird pie  
I'm tingling tingling tingling  
It's what you feel now  
What you ought to what you ought to  
Reasonable and sensible

_Dead from the neck up_  
I guess I'm stuffed, stuffed, stuffed  
We thought you had it in you  
But no no no  
For no real reason

_Squeeze the tubes and empty bottles  
And take a bow take a bow take a bow  
It's what you feel now..._

_Faust Arp by Radiohead_

 

Dean sighed heavily through his nostrils, eyes boring a hole through the wall as he found himself escorted and registered into the psychiatric ward. He was glad to go help a former hunter, Martin, out in a case...but he just wished it wasn’t in a goddamn funny farm. As much as he wanted to save the world, guns blazin’...they needed to figure out a way to deal with Lucifer.

In his opinion, he was the same brand of scum. Just bigger with a lot of books about him. Whoope-de-fucking-do. So he’s a huge part of religion, Angel Land, Hell -- whatever. We are so impressed over here. Rolling his eyes to the high heaven, Dean shook his head as he snorted in displeasure. As much as he wanted to shiver in fear or some sorry bullshit like that, he just couldn’t drive himself to panic about this. It couldn’t be as terrible as Azazel, watching Ellen and Jo die, watching Sam leave them for college, or even witnessing some sick fuck slaughtering his family in cold blood. Not a lot of things frightened him, or at least he made a damn good job at keeping his cards close to his chest and not batting an eye.

So he could only sit about in agitation as Sammy was off playing One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with Nurse Joy again, while he was stuck in the day room. Sammy was beginning to go off his rocket, and frankly Dean wasn’t surprised. He was just pleased that he was sound of mind, leaning against the wall and staring at the mirror as people passed by. If there was a wraith he would see their true form through the mirror...

_Dean... Dean..._

For some odd reason, Dean could always feel his own doctor approach him before it actually happened. A cold chill would gnaw at his belly, as if his stomach was trying to play ice maker at the moment. Turning to his right, he welcomed Doctor Erica Cartwright, who leaned on the wall against him. As much as he wanted to loathe the female doctor for having the uncanny ability to weasel her words into his thoughts, there was something utterly calming. She would crush his entire being with her knowing words, but her demeanor numbed the blow. Soothed him...yet made him raw. He knew it was the whole psychologist crap, but the way she was able to breakdown his relationship with his father when they first met... The way she could make him feel like shit as she pointed out that his father used him and still is.

“You’re just convenient to your, father. A soldier he can yank out from his own reserves, and toss out. Not once did he ever ask if this is what you want... _Is this the life you want?_ Did you not once dream of another life? To be a firefighter? A cop? A chef? Did you even know that there were options?”

As much as he hated to admit it...he honestly could not think of a time when he wanted to be something else. All he knew was monster hunting... When he would flutter from school-to-school, and the question was asked in class...he didn’t know what to put down.

_What do you want to be when you grow up?_

_I don’t know. I honestly don’t fucking know._

“You can’t save everybody...you can’t,” he stared listlessly at the Doctor, her eyes boring into his soul, that cold chill crunching and seeping inside his belly. Every time he saw her, that surgical cold feel of a doctor’s office or the feel of sanitized equipment seeped into his system. He couldn’t explain why he felt so...disheartened hearing those words, and he blamed this goddam loony bin.

Those pale eyes of radiation green seemed to spark with a bright light, as if the reflection of the hospital lights were now embedded in her pupil. Made him think of Castiel, and how he could glimpse briefly his essence whenever he was in-tune with his angel mojo. “Hell these days you can’t save anybody, Dean,” her tone dropped into menacing and mocking, and that cold sensation in his gut turned into a disgusting twist. Someone calling him out on his failures and his lack of saving others -- oh god, Ellen and Jo. They didn’t need to die... It was all his fault. He was certain if he could trace back his actions, something would reveal itself to solely be the cause and fault of their deaths.

He killed family. He killed them...

_Dean... Dean...when will you --_

Wait. She said his name. His real name. Not Eddie. Dean. “What did you say?”

“The truth, Dean,” she replied swiftly, a patronizing look dancing on her beautiful face, “You got Ellen and Jo killed.” Bile was beginning to rise up his throat. “You shot Lucifer, but you couldn’t gank him. You couldn’t stop Sam from killing Lilith. Oh, yeah, and you broke the first seal,” she spread out all his faults on the table, and he could feel himself become queasy and sick in self-loathing. If only he stopped Sam. Treated him like an equal instead of hounding over him. If only he remained rigid with his morales and codes instead of becoming a monster in Hell. If only he could find a way to truly kill Lucifer. That would clean the slate...his slate...

So than you are doing this to appease your conscience? To appease your father? Selfish.

“All you do is fail. Did you really think that you, Dean Winchester with a GED and a given hell attitude, could beat the devil? Please. The world is going to burn and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she finished snakily, and he could feel himself become so sick with fear and dread that he snapped. A nerve fried. He could feel it burn in his skull, the scent of burnt toast filling his nostrils.

So he began demanding how she knew this. How did this doctor know all of these things? His deep secrets? His deep fears? How to pour salt in a wound? His hands itched to strangle her, to smother the life out of her, but there was something so untouchable about her... Every time he would try to raise his hands, something cold held down his wrists, murmuring unintelligible words into the crevices of his skull.

_Dean... Dean...when will you understand --_

The good doctor smiled, revealing her pearly whites, “I’m not real, Dean. I’m in your head. Because you are going crazy.”

His body shuddered as he stumbled backwards, staring blankly at nothing as an orderly frowned deeply at him. What was real...was beginning to leave him. He couldn’t be here. He had to go. Spinning on his heels, nearly falling in the process, he winced as the other patients and orderlies stared at him. Knowingly. In the mirrors they were all wraiths, all grinning a toothy grin, taunting him...

He needed to go now. Fresh air. Something.

Yanking on a door, finding it locked, the feeling of pressure being shoved down his shoulders made his knees weak. It felt as if someone was climbing on his back and resting on his shoulders. An invisible monkey on his back. Sinking onto the floor, feeling panic well up in his being, he closed his eyes and prayed this was just a --

“ _Dream!_ ” he sputtered out, lurching into a sitting position and finding himself in...bed.

He was in bed. Good... He was safe (hypothetically speaking), but safe nonetheless. Panting softly in the night air, pleased he had the room to himself, thanks to Sam’s own breakdown, he allowed himself the luxury of physically breaking down. Shoulders once taut, relaxed. Back once rigid and straight, crumbled. Burying his head in his hands, he struggled not to think too much. To think of Ellen and Jo... To think how his family was continuing to be reduced in numbers... To think of how the devil was out... To think of how he was an utter failure, that every time he tries to do something right...it goes wrong. No one has truly ever been there to tell him otherwise.

To tell him he’s done a good job. Good job, Dean. I’m proud of you, Dean. Don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. You’re doing something good here, Dean. A rarity. A fucking rarity.

“It feels good...to just take a break from reality,” someone spoke up in the darkness of the room, making the older Winchester look in sluggish alert at his surroundings. Dulled out eyes from stress found a figure leaning against the door, arms crossed across his chest. Dean knew this wasn’t Sammy... This voice was different. Smooth. Eloquent. The wraith, than? It came to confront him? “You hardly ever get a break, Dean. I’m surprised it took you this long to burn out...” the voice trailed out, and instead of mocking and berating it was pure sympathy. It almost made him nod his head in silent agreement, but the fear of the unknown kept him poised.

The figure moved into the light, and Dean felt his nostrils flare in distrust.

There in the room was the devil himself, Lucifer.

“How the hell did you find us, you son of a bitch?” came the harsh reply, the blonde giving a good-humored smile as he held his hands up in mock surrender. As much as Dean would love to choke the blonde, the nagging realization he could do nothing against the devil made him keep his place. Even though before he couldn’t care less who he was brawling, as long as he was fighting tooth and nail...this one kept him rooted.

 

“Oh Dean, I can’t really find you at the moment... I can just wander about the perimeters,” he clarified in earnest, moving across the room, eyes gazing at the area in a mild attempt to gauge and decipher a location. “But...I’m not here to fight, and I doubt you are of sound mind to even try,” he tauntingly added, coyly wagging his finger at Dean like a teacher scolding a rambunctious student.

“I think you got me confused for someone else, buddy.”

Lucifer made a gesture to reply in some heavy explanation, but stopped himself to tug a chair from the desk over to Dean’s bed. Pulling it before him, he sat down, scratching at a place by his neck before sighing gently, “Dean, you have to start realizing that I do not have a one-track mind. I’m not Sam-obsessed as some may think. You are as much important to me as Sam is... When are you going to realize that it’s not all about little Sammy Winchester?”

The words hit him hard. Not in the gut-wrenching way the Doc’s did...but in a sort of twisted awe. He was getting recognition from the devil. How fucked up did the world have to be? Secondly, he was not having a conversation with the devil. The same devil he shot in the face with the Colt, and ended up backhanded a good half-mile towards a tree. That’s impossible.

“If you’re going to kick my ass for shooting you in the face, than just get it over with now. I don’t have time for bullshit.”

Dean felt himself become terribly nervous as he watched the devil frown in dismay and almost look somewhat flabbergasted by his statement. It was such a human reaction if it wasn’t for the mere fact that every movement -- whether small or big -- reeked of smooth eloquence and the breathing of a consistently vain creature. The way he moved was watching art at work, and it was just enough to make him feel that antsy tension in his gut. This was not supposed to be the devil’s response. The devil was supposed to toss his hands in the air and say something like, “Whelp, I hope they have great painkillers in this fine facility because you’re going to need it after I’m done.”

_Dean... Dean...when will you understand that I..._

“Dean, not every conversation you have with another has to lead up to a brawl,” the blonde mused out, fingers brushing at imaginary dirt on his knees, “Not everyone wants to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, nor do I have a reason to at the moment.”

“So says the devil,” the older Winchester bit back, the fallen angel giving a heavy sigh through his nostrils.

“You remind me of my brother to such a dangerous degree, it’s almost frightening,” he gently chuckled, the noise oddly soothing the knot in the Winchester’s back. “He’s just like you. Father’s perfect solider. Willing to do things that others would dread doing...like talking back to the devil,” Lucifer smiled, but it was all out of good-humor, and Dean could only feel confusion grip him. What was Lucifer trying to get at? Why was he being so calm? Was this all a trap? A ploy? Was this a chance for him to get back at the devil? An opportunity?

Feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch as instinct began to kick in, his hand shot forward and grabbed the front of the vessel’s shirt. Yanking him toward him, he moved his body a tad sloppily away, shoving the vessel onto the mattress.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you, you fuckin’ bastard,” he snarled, body pinning the devil on the bed, the bed frame giving a low whine. Fingers were curled around the devil’s neck warningly, and he could feel the steady thumping of blood pulsing through in beat with an equally steady heart. He wasn’t suspecting to feel something...well, living. Dean wasn’t quite sure why he expected Lucifer’s vessel to be the walking dead.

_You’re going to kill another human being? Like how you killed Ellen and Jo?_

His insides wrenched and coiled into disastrous patterns and knots, making a lump begin to form in the base of his throat. He was not going to dwell on that. He promised himself he wouldn’t be a goddamn wreck and god forbid, cry. It’s pathetic. He wasn’t pathetic. He was strong for his family. For Sam. For dad. For Bobby --

“It’s okay, Dean,” the devil soothed, hands reaching out to cup the face before him, half-lidded eyes regarding him in a curious light. “You can do it.” Dean only bit his tongue and applied more pressure, feeling muscles underneath his finger work and twitch in confusion at its esophagus being blocked. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this to Sammy. How was he expected to do the same when Lucifer is wearing Sam? Muscles were beginning to tremble, and he thought it was Lucifer, but through closer examination he realized his entire body was trembling. What he thought was the devil panting in the night air was actually himself.

Cool fingers caught a tear that left the corner of his eye, sweeping it out of existence, and slowly his fingers left the now bruised neck. The Doctor was right. How was he supposed to save everyone? The word was going to burn because of him. All he does...is fail.

“Shit,” he hissed out, “Fuck.”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s okay,” someone was gently cooing to him, and he could feel his body falling forward, hot forehead resting against a cold one. “You don’t have to do this...but you do it anyways. That’s admirable, Dean,” came those consoling words that rarely graced his ears, and he could feel Lucifer move to leave a kiss to break a fever on his forehead. That scorching fever that has been plaguing him began to settle into a cooler temperature of calmness.

“The weight on your shoulders is too much to bear... If there was another way --”

_Dean... Dean...when will you understand that I got --_

Fingers were like balm to a burn, and the problems that seemed so close to home began to gently fade away. It had to be...be the wraith...this was just...a hallucination...it was just a...a...he couldn’t remember. A blankness hit him, all focus turning to this odd source of comfort. “-- it’s not your fault, Dean. You just happened to be caught up in something larger than yourself. You don’t have to do this anymore. You don’t have to carry the burden all by yourself...” They were like a chanted mantra going through his skull, telling him that he can have sweet relief. It’s his to take and no one would think any less of him. What a tantalizing offer... How it sounded like a priest’s words to a dying man about to be embraced by Death...

_It’s not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault. You deserve a break. A break._

Those cold lips found his forehead once more, as if pleased with the frying of reality and duties occurring in the Winchester’s skull. Dean only turned his head upward until lips found his own, feeling a hesitant pause from the devil before continuing in lead. The brunette was compliant for a few seconds before deep growl began to reverberate from the belly of his being, a hand grabbing the devil’s shoulder before he began to brutally take control.

Lucifer was giving him the option to vent, to restart, to let his skull become a blank slate, to steal all his doubts and troubling inner fears... It made him sick with excitement at such an offer. It made him antsy with anticipation at what he wanted done and how exactly he was going to vent. Finally, it made him feel...invincible. He couldn’t explain it, but the wheel was given back to him and it was given to him by the devil himself. He was going to find comfort in the arms of the devil, and the devil was asking him to lead.

Than so be it, he would overpower him.

Dean broke from the kiss for air, a sucking sound filling the air when lips parted their way. Sitting back up, he yanked his hospital garb off, tossing it elsewhere into the confines of the room. Eyes were a deep hazel green at the moment, staring at the compliant blonde who stared back at him through hooded eyes. It was like having the Big Bad Wolf sedated, and he couldn’t let this chance slide by. Grabbing at his clothes, he gestured for Lucifer to slide his arms out, his own hands working on yanking the olive t-shit over his head.

Nick was looking rather thin from lack of proper nourishment, the hinting of ribs beginning to become more distinct as the days went by. Dean hardly paid any mind to it, just absolutely giddy at the strange amount of control he was suddenly given. He felt...on top of the world. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time, struggling to keep his lips from curving into a foolish grin.

Lips came back to meet his own, but instead of the tentative ways they handled things before, they were much rough. Abrasive. All punch. The devil barred his teeth but kept himself in control, teethes scraping against each other. Instead he matched the brute change in tone, fingers digging into shoulder blades as a hum in satisfaction left the Winchester.

The reason why Lucifer was willing to play this game, was because it was his game to play. Whether he was just fiction in Dean’s hallucinating world or current non-fiction on the bed, they would play by his rules and his certain success in the end. Everything is pre-planned with him, and this was a full proof plan that would give him a leverage.

The reason why Lucifer chose to appear was for one reason and for one reason only: revenge. The older Winchester made him experience pain. Something he has yet to feel since being forced into his cage eons and eons ago. He was a being who felt no pain, and if there was pain to be felt on earth Nick would feel it. Yet the Colt stung his essence, knocking him out briefly in his vessel before having to reinsert himself properly in. Healing the wound and saving Nick’s life, so he could continue to functionally walk about for now, was a pain. Especially for a vessel that was finicky and prone to breaking down often.

He had to pay Dean a visit. It was only polite and common courtesy.

Humans were interesting creatures in the least, and he was all but well-versed in things like this. While other angels stumbled and jabbered nervously at the entire thought -- unless the topic is solely on the procreation of some sort of savior -- he was well-practiced and shameless.

So he would give Dean a good dose of Man’s greatest weakness: shame.

Hips beckoned against his like a crooked finger, and he responded well in turn, as if giving his own consent that this was quite fine. Yet while it sent waves of hormonal response in Nick, it sent tsunamis to the angel. Vessels were interesting contraptions. They can dull the pain like a shield, or amplify the sound waves like a microphone. With a vessel so ready to burst into bits of meat in any second, he was at the disadvantage in the sense he couldn’t securely keep all shields in place. So when someone is insistently rubbing against his vessel’s crotch, he’ll get a response from Nick but a much larger one from the devil himself.

He clenched his jaw, feeling his essence become taut in restraint, in fear of making poor Nick become meat confetti. He needed control of the situation, and in this case, physical. Bring the control back to him, allow his vessel to risk the loss of some flesh and a kidney...call it a day. He needed to enact his revenge on Dean. He needed to make Dean understand the terrible mistake he made when he pulled that trigger. When he made him feel pain. Oh, he’ll make Dean feel pain like no other.

A soft groan left his lips when he felt a hand cup his manhood, tongue tracing the underside of his own mouth at the shocks of pleasure.

Grabbing Dean by the hips, he flipped the hunter so he was on the bottom, and he was on top.

_Dean...Dean...when will you understand that I got you --_

“Dean, you don’t deserve the hardships you have to endure,” came the murmured words in his ear, the Winchester aware of fingers tugging on his pants. The Winchester happily wiggled himself out of them, tilting his head in a way his ear could properly hear the oncoming words. He couldn’t explain how lulled and yet absolutely desperate he felt to hear those words... He could feel all rationality and all those important brain juices that kept him fighting and resisting slip out the other ear. “You deserve a life where you choose -- where you make the calls. Because you’re always right, Dean,” came the words that tempted Eve to bite a fruit that would change the course of history.

“I am always right,” Dean snorted in agreement, a deep chuckle leaving the devil as he skillfully undid his vessel’s jeans. “But...but Sam,” doubt was filling his eyes, as if he recalled that he suddenly had a brother and that there was something very wrong about this scene. “Sometimes...sometimes he says things that -- ”

The thought was left incomplete when cold flesh met his heated skin, causing him to gasp into the night air as his hands gripped bony hips in a vice grip. “He isn’t strict nor firm enough,” came the gentle cooings and assurance as the slow roll of hips commenced, like a train beginning to move. Dean groaned, tossing his head back as he could feel his erection stiffening. “While Father has instructed you the way he sees fit, you know how you see things fit. Undeniably loyal...true to the cause...to family...” the words were becoming spaced out, the devil focusing on the shimmer of pleasure he gained from this all.

He didn’t promise Dean or assure Dean he would tell the truth. Oh no. While he would never lie to Sam, he was more than pleased to become a slippery conman to Dean. For bleeding heart heroes like Dean, you have to put them on a pedestal before kicking them down. The bigger they ego, the harder they fall.

The hunter was writhing underneath him as the devil traced patterns on sensitive skin underneath his navel. He traced sigils to bind, to destroy, traps that gnawed the gut, the heart, the mind... Than with the pushing back of his body, he bowed his head to swipe away these invisible configurations with his tongue. The devil was purposely ignoring what needed dire attention, instead turning to the muscled thigh beside him. The way he nipped at skin, tasted the sweat off of his skin, and murmured poisonous promises into every pore made him squirm. Dean was the sort of “fuck first, forget pre-gaming.” He was a man with simple needs and was goddamn proud of it, but Lucifer was shoving him out of his element.

Yet whenever the devil would pause or miss a spot, he would grumble in dismay. God, he was going nuts. Absolutely bat-shit crazy with a capital ‘C.’

Hands pulled him closer, Dean’s backside hitting Nick’s pelvis, fingers holding securely onto his legs. The devil was adjusting his legs, and Dean allowed himself to be moved around like a rag doll, still feeling those words of praise and encouragement soak into his skull. It made him absolutely high, a sense of pride filling his chest.

Than something prodded at him, and for a brief moment clarity was given. This couldn’t be real. Opening his eyes, he could feel his heart lurch in his chest at the pair of eyes that watched him in animalistic rapture. It looked as if someone shattered his vessel’s iris, that milky-blue hue spreading across the white expanse of his eye. There it glowed a sickly hue, irises now tiny pinpricks of pure, nuclear white.

Dean snarled and began to thrash, but when he pushed against the devil’s shoulders, he flinched at how absolutely cold Nick’s skin was. Snapping his jaws like a feral dog, he shoved his hand against blonde’s face, feeling cool lips and teeth against his sweaty palm. Lips closed down on each other to form a sardonic kiss on Dean, the hunter jerking his hand aside as if he was bit. “Get off of me you fucking sick fuck, I can’t wait to beat you fucking senseless with the Colt -- ah!”

Dean could only think of one single thing: African Rock python. He remembered seeing one as a kid, being tossed into a zoo to babysit Sam while dad was off on a hunt. He remembered seeing the massive snake coil its way around a slain pig after sinking its massive jaws into its neck. It was almost as a precaution that it wrapped itself around its prey, tightening its limbs until the dead bastard was bursting. Dean remembered feeling a wave of awe and fascination grip him at the lethality of a mere snake. Right now he was letting that python wrap itself further around him after sinking its teeth into him, and a slow moving sense of panic gripped him.

_Dean...Dean...when will you understand that I got you dead --_

Hips pushed further, and the hunter adjusted himself at the intrusion, eyes glaring at the utterly calm devil. “Keep on resisting, Winchester,” came the encouraging words, a chuckle leaving past his lips as he began a slow pace, “I’m going to need that later on.” Dean wanted to sling out an insult, but instead he kept his mouth firmly shut, trying to ignore how painfully...pleasant this all felt. He refused to respond, and the devil only smirked, moving his lips to kiss the crook of Dean’s frown.

That’s when he noticed that Nick was peeling... Like a snake, Nick was shedding. Skin was slowly disintegrating to reveal bleeding muscles and raw flesh. Little droplets of blood would occasionally drip and hit his chest, the liquid terribly hot in comparison to how cold the devil was. His mouth parted in surprise, a throaty moan leaving his lips when he felt that perfect spot being hit. The more Nick disintegrated, the brighter those eyes and the colder the room became.

Dean was absolutely certain he has now hit a new level of crazy. This had to be by far the most fucked up hallucination or whatever it may be. This could not be reality in the least.

As much as he wanted to force himself to wake up or whatever it may be, he could only feel his eyes roll to the back of his head as he felt himself rocked into a mindless bliss. Legs were tightening around the devil as he kept an increasing pace, the sound of sweaty limbs shifting making his skin tingle. As much as he wanted to fight. To try his best to shove the devil off of him, he was numb and in place, guiltily finding himself more aroused at the sounds both were emitting.

It was only when he could hear the devil begin to softly pant, something that made his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth, was he aware that his eyes were watering...as if he was staring at the sun for too long. Opening his eyes, he hissed in reproach at the brilliant figure in pure light. Whatever was once Nick was obviously no longer visible, or it was just too goddamn bright.

_Dean...Dean...when will you understand that I got you dead from --_

Lucifer was nuclear bright. A sun within a sun within a sun. A ball of burning gas that consumes through vicious and gnawing flames. Darkness was nonexistent in Lucifer. As he could feel himself beginning to ride on his orgasm, he can feel the ringing in his ears. That familiar and piercing ringing that he heard when Castiel first tried to speak with him. However this one grew in volume and intensity out of choice...for the sake of injuring.

When he kisses him, it feels like his lips are becoming pure blocks of ice. Chipping at warm tissue to form icicles in the nerves. It feels as if he’s inhaling lightening, his fingers grabbing and fisting into the bed. Pain was engulfing him, but pleasure wormed itself in to lessen the blow.

Something was dripping from his right ear, his ear cells giving out their last swan song and slipping out in blood afterward. Slowly opening his eyes, Dean slammed it shut immediately at the brightness and the sensation of his eyes melting from it. The brunette could feel thick liquid leaving the crevices of his closed eyes, optical nerves screaming loudly in his right ear, the left ear a mournful wail. Yet, there were sunspots of an image so incandescent and of otherworldly beauty. There was the brief image of the Morning Star, and words failed to describe how utterly perfect he looked.

“ **Oh, I’ll break you** _\-- I’ll break --- Oh, I’ll -- you -- break_ ,” the angel spoke in four-part harmony, as something hissed and purred in his skull echoes of his spoken word. “ **So that when the time comes** _\-- time -- when the time -- break --_ **to say ‘yes’** _\-- say -- to say ‘yes’ -- yes --_ **you won’t.** ” His pace suddenly increased, pelvis beating mercilessly against his own until he swore that there would be permanent bruisings on his bones.

“ **In the back of your head** \-- _back of -- your head -- in the back --_ **you will think of this** _\-- think of this -- think -- think fondly of me -- you will._ ”

He tried to squirm, but Lucifer kept him so well pinned, body moving with such profound focus and poise. He kept on hitting that spot that made him sing, but his voice was so raw from the nauseating heat. When he inhaled, he inhaled the heavy steam of the burning atmosphere around him and the cold essence of fire too hot.

_Dean...Dean...when will you understand that I got you dead from the --_

“ **The shame** _\-- what a shame --_ **the trickery** _\-- what a fool --_ **the manipulation** _\-- too easy --_ **and how much you liked it** _\-- you’ll come back for more._ ”

The words hardly meant sense to him, nor did they retain fully into his skull. There was a fire consuming his insides, and he could only suffocate in the awful heat and the strangling hold of ice so cold it sears tissue. He could feel something trace his anti-possession tattoo on his chest before teeth sank into it, piercing skin as he fidgeted and fought uselessly. Before he could even manage to utter out a single word -- whether coherent or not --, he could feel his gut fall. The sensation of falling gripped him, and before he could scold his mind and pray that this was just some awful --

 _“Dream!”_ he sputtered out, lurching into a sitting position and finding himself in...bed.

Jerking off the bed, falling onto his side, he cursed loudly as he scanned the room. It was empty. Mournfully empty. Patting himself down, finding his hospital garb on and his body void of any markings out of the usual, he gave a shaky sigh in relief. Yet he could still hear this dream rattle across his skull...his own thoughts back than and even the thought process of his dreamt-up Lucifer. Jesus Christ he needed to lay off the meds they were giving him at this place... Or...what if this was the wraith? What if...it made him cuckoo for coco puffs?

He needed to talk to Martin now.

Bursting toward Martin’s cell in the dead of night, finding the trip harder than before, it is a matter of five minuets does he find himself approaching the hunter in his sleep. About to shake him, he gave a hiss in shock when a knife is swung his way -- “Martin! Martin, it’s me, it’s Dean!”

“Oh! Sorry,” the hunter apologized, lowering the knife sheepishly, “You look like hell, boy.”

“I...f-feel like it too,” Dean replied nervously, giving a quick look at the door, swearing he felt the ghost of feeling of someone breathing down his neck.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Lockdown! He went crazy, and thank God.”

“What?”

“I’m going crazy, too,” Dean explained shakily, feeling chunks of his brain singe and scream in the memory of blaring light and cold grins, “I’m seein’ things, I’m hearin’ things, we both are.”

_Dean, Dean...when will you understand I got you dead from the neck up?_

**Author's Note:**

> And that's why Dean says 'no' to Michael.


End file.
